The Virtue of Dreams
by peachandbetty
Summary: The virtue of dreams is being able to live life as though nothing stood in your way, to act the hypothetical when reality gives you far too many crossroads. M for mature themes.


So this may or may not become a mini-series of about five chapters, it may not. Depends on how things go and how I feel about it I guess.

Please be warned, this is not wholesome. It...rarely is. 

* * *

The Virtue of Dreams

* * *

"You know, you can tell me anything. I won't judge."

Heero closed his eyes and took a long breath. He'd been going at his paperwork, an accumulation of compulsory documentation he'd been casually ignoring for the last year, for two hours and was on a good run to finish before it got dark. _Was._

He swung his chair around to face his braided colleague, not making the slightest effort to mask his annoyance. The sooner he let the other man talk his talk, the sooner he could move on. "And this has been prompted by what, exactly?"

Duo, it seemed, hadn't planned that far ahead as his eyebrows creased and bit his lip in an effort to chose his words. "Well, it's like...I'm here? If you ever wanted to, you know, get something off your chest or whatever."

Heero looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "You're not one for subtlety, Maxwell, so ask whatever it is you think I won't answer and let me finish _this._" He gestured a hand over his desk, the light breeze catching a couple of sheets from the nearest pile and dislodging them from their organised chaos.

Duo shot the man a sympathetic grimace. When one reads about the glamourised accounts of Preventer agents and their high-adrenaline lifestyles, something that had associated the trademark Jacket with a following of admirers, one clearly didn't know what really went on behind the scenes.

He pulled up the chair that was holding the office door open and sat astride it, letting the door close shut and regarding his friend with a serious look. Heero dropped his glare; when Duo was actually serious, it was wise to listen.

"Heero. It's been four years since the wars ended, my friend. And as close as I feel we've gotten, I just can't place you. And I normally wouldn't care to, either. But, I want to see you happy. Not smiling and laughing happy, the fabric of the universe would cave in, but happy in the way I see the others."

Heero's brow furrowed. Now he really didn't know what to think. He wasn't unhappy. He was content, or would be if the mountainous towers of paper on his desk would up and disappear. What made Duo think he was anything less? But before he could rebuke, the braided pilot continued.

"You've seen Trowa and Quatre. Last I spoke to him, I don't think I've seen Trowa with so much energy about him. And Quatre has this blushing thing going on that would probably be adorable if he was a girl; never let him know I said that. Wufei has this bizarre cougar thing going on with Sally Po, but hey, I don't judge. And as much as the guy moans about it, he wouldn't be continuing along the lines of bizarre if he didn't want it. But you seem to be purposefully holding yourself back from _something._ So tell me what it is? I want to help."

Heero, unlike his comrade, was speechless. Partly because Sally Po and Wufei Chang was actually news to him and he wondered what else had escaped his notice, partly because he _still_ didn't understand why he was being accused of misery. But mostly because Duo was so sincerely asking after his well-being. The Duo of four years ago would have had a good laugh at his expense if he caught fire. Meddling Duo he could handle, as he had done so many times before. This was entirely too foreign.

So he tried the only thing he could think of. Honesty.

"What is you think I'm holding back on? I'm content here."

Duo sighed and ran his hand through his bangs, as though preparing himself for a lecture. Heero really didn't want a lecture.

"I'm not talking about work, dumbass. I'm talking about your love life, as negligible as it is."

Love life? Now that was laughable.

Heero startled himself. When he thought about it, from the outside looking in it really was. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"You're assuming I don't have interests?"

The concerned look was back on Duo's face and Heero was starting to preemptively file it in the list of expressions that annoyed him, right alongside "I told you so" and "I'm going to explain this to you like you're a five year old".

"No...but, maybe, they might be more Quatre-like interests and less Wufei-like interests..."

It took a while for that to click, but when it did Heero nearly lobbed his stapler at him. After all that, all this sincerity, all this build up, all this _waste of his time_ was this honestly about whether or not he was attracted to men?!

The glare was back, full force, and he had a feeling it would inhabit his features for the rest of the week. "Out." He moved towards him, herding him away.

Duo stood, warily making his way backwards towards the door. "Hey, don't take it like that. I'm honestly just trying to help. Figure out where you're at. I always thought you had a thing for everybody's favourite peacekeeper, but for all the progress you've made over six whole years of her acquaintance, I had reasonable cause for doubt."

Heero froze his advance, something not unnoticed by Duo, as he also stopped his hasty retreat.

Relena. It was an everyday name for most people, but more so for him. His main focus within the agency was on de-weaponisation; his pet project was a series of automatic disarmament devices that he hoped would not take longer than a few more years to develop fully. But, he had always vested a personal interest in the now Foreign Minister's safety, despite the Preventers having no official influence in that regard.

She was a special person to him; he had come to know that during the war. Fifteen year old Heero Yuy had reviewed her role in his life and decided that he wanted her in it, and that he wanted to be in hers. And to that end, he was a friend to her, and her protector. He had always had needed something to work for, and her continued presence in this world that flourished under her was now it.

Twenty year old Heero Yuy, however...

"Look man, I'm sorry if I crossed some sort of line with this one. My intentions were pure, I promise. I can't pretend to be an expert on you or anybody else, but it's almost as though you just don't _have_ those feelings. At all. As though the concepts of like, love and sex just never formed. I know the kind of shit we had to go through as kids...I thought..." Duo seemed to give up his rationale there. It wasn't a comfortable topic for any of the former pilots and Duo risked a lot of discomfort on both of their parts by bringing it up.

Heero nearly felt compelled to offer his own words of support to the man. Duo, in his own way, was just trying to play the role nobody else could. He was trying to understand so that he could just _be_ that person in his life who got it. Each of them had their own various horror stories to keep bottled up from before the war, and he didn't doubt that some of them overlapped. He knew from vague references how Duo had been treated by the adults in his young life and it was heart-lifting at times to see the outgoing, reasonably well-adjusted man he had become in spite of that. This same man who was getting married in August.

Heero would never be that man, but he had grown for the better, albeit in less than visible ways. He made coffee rounds for the others on his corridor. He made new acquaintances and opened himself up to conversation with them. He had become a compassionate leader to a generation of less experienced agents.

And he had become _something_ to Relena Darlian. Friend wasn't the word, not anymore.

"It's okay. I get it. It's nothing like that. It's nothing like Quatre or Trowa either. I'm straight, I have interests. I just keep them to myself."

As forthcoming as he'd become over the years, he didn't think Duo was prepared for that. A rare moment passed when all words had been stolen from Duo Maxwell's mouth.

"And...her?"

And her what? "What about her?"

"Interests. Is she included in there?"

Seeing as the line had been crossed already, Duo had obviously grown bold. Heero almost couldn't believe he was having this conversation, but he went with it. Duo was right about something. He did want to get it off his chest.

"Yes. She's in there."

The look on Duo's face was like he'd had an epiphany.

"So, you like her? Love her? Think about her perky little breasts?"

Heero almost smacked him for that last comment, but was distracted by the image that conjured in his mind. It was, by far, not an unpleasant image, but was intrusive at entirely the wrong time and he felt his face prickle with unwanted heat. _Something that happens far too often._

"To your first question, yes. I like her. She's a friend, a good one. To your second, I can't tell you that. I'm still figuring that out for myself."

Duo smirked, amused that the other man hadn't deigned to give his third question a response.

"Ignore my phrasing all you want, but that last question still stands. She's a beautiful woman, Heero. And you're close, you've said it yourself. As a red blooded man I know; it's hard not to combine the two."

Duo had hit the mark, dead centre. It had started off with the occasional intrusion, a flash of her face, her shapely legs, her voice through his mind, giving it something to feed on as his blood flowed south in the mornings. It had startled him at first, but he rationalised that it would naturally be _her _who took shape to his natural desires, she who was the only close female in his life. He thought nothing of it.

Until one day, he'd chosen not to ignore it. The pressure was there, as it was every morning, and he didn't want to let it seep away as he always did. He wanted to feel release. And so in the haze of his awakening, the heated steam of the shower, he opened his mind to those images, combining them in ways he could only call fantasy. He heard her breathe his name in such a way as he'd never heard it before, the legs he'd long admired tightening around his waist. He heard her pleasured gasps echo through his own, and watched her pretty face contort into a silent cry as her hair clung to bouncing breasts.

And then it became harder to think of it as "nothing".

The line of their conversation had been crossed but he was apprehensive about taking it into this direction. This was very irregular, and Heero almost felt as though by the simple act of disclosure he was giving body to his insecurities. As though it would be wrenched from his control.

Duo seemed to sense his apprehension, and gave him an understanding smile, moving back towards the door.

"Welp, I think we've had enough breakthroughs for today. And that paper isn't going to magically shrink itself. If you want to talk, buddy, you know where I'll be. But, just think about this, if you get the chance. You like her, you want her, and there's nothing standing in your way."

And with that he was gone, leaving an eerie trail of silence and another wave of dislodged paperwork fluttering to the floor behind him.

Heero sat back down, not moving to restart the laptop that had gone into hibernation. He just let his mind take it in.

He wanted her. Duo had made it sound so simple. Three words to be exact and he was inclined to agree with them. In the basest way, he wanted her.

Heero wouldn't say he had a "type". He always thought of sexual attraction as an overall being, not just a series of features he found appealing. Relena was more than blond and petite. She was kind and strong, intelligent and honest.

But still, the more he thought about her, the more he felt as though he was comparing every other woman to her, using her as a template by which he measured his own attraction. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

And he found himself, sitting in his office with a blank screen staring at him, cataloging the woman that was Relena Darlian.

She had blue eyes. Not just any blue, and certainly not _his_ blue. They were bright, and they were alive. _She held his gaze as she dragged her tongue up his hard length, slowly from the base, watching him come undone._

Heero let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding in.

She had golden hair. Not the kind of gold worn by famous actresses, but a darker caramel colour that seemed to complement her maturity. _He fisted her soft locks in his hand, needing to grip on to something as the pressure built in his abdomen, his muscles tensing as the tight seal of her lips moved over his shaft earnestly, robbing him of breath._

A warmth spread throughout his body, from his belly to his fingertips.

She had pink lips. She didn't wear lipstick. She had a relatively innocent look to her that unnatural colour would seem misplaced. _As she released him, she looked up through a lidded gaze, her lips swollen and shimmering._

His jeans had become uncomfortable, and he leaned back in his chair and tilted his slender hips, moving to undo the fly. He couldn't work like this, not now.

She had a natural colour to her cheeks, that she always seemed to look young, always happy. When she was embarrassed or angry, it would darken and spread to the tips of her ears and down her neck. He liked seeing her angry. _Her face was flushed pink with her desire, bleeding into her usually pale decolletage, as she was left exposed to his hungry eyes._

Throwing caution to the wind, entranced by the world inside his head, Heero released his breath as he freed himself from his confines, letting a hand ghost over the cotton still covering his hardness.

She had a slender neck, pale as the rest of her. He knew her European heritage gave her light colouring, but he suspected the creamy colour of her skin would be accompanied by a silky smoothness. For such a short woman, she held her head high on that neck, regal and unmoving. _He moved his lips over the junction of her neck, sucking lightly before moving up her jaw to the sensitive skin beneath her ear, his arousal pulsing as he heard her whisper his name, her warm breath fanning against his shoulder, sultry and deliciously low._

He slipped his hand beneath the grey cotton, brushing over a sensitive coarse trail of hair, inhaling sharply as his hand touched the hot skin of his painfully aroused shaft.

She had small breasts. He saw her sometimes, looking at the other women in her life and back at her own chest with a grimace on her face. Relena had grown in many ways, except vertically and on her chest. _He trailed his lips back down her neck, moving further and feeling her hand bury itself in his hair, her legs around his waist as he hoisted her up against the wall. He ran his tongue along the underside of one breast before flicking it over her budded pink nipple, enjoying the way she pushed her chest out to him, silently pleading with him. He obliged, and took the other into his mouth, sucking on the soft firm flesh. She was so sensitive, and he felt her nails dig into his back, her delighted whimpers echoing through him._

He wrapped his rough fingers around his length, groaning as he squeezed the first dew of his pleasure from the tip.

She had a tiny waist. She was short, even for a woman, and were it not for the sheer force of her character, she would appear fragile. But, somehow, it added her her elegance in ways he supposed other more voluptuous woman would envy. _She placed her hands on the wall, her waist bent forward as he ran his hands under her arms, over the sensitised skin of her breast and dragged his blunt nails lightly on the skin of her hips, pulling her against him. He ground against her, hearing her whimper breathlessly at the contact, before moving a hand to play with the soft patch of golden curls just above her most precious place._

He built a slow pace, with long, languid strokes, keeping the solid pressure. His breathing was harsh, the small office filled with it.

She had a very pleasing posterior. He wasn't the only man to notice. She had taken up yoga at the age of 18 in order to, she said, relax and build her core strength. He could have suggested a hundred better ways for her to accomplish that but he held felt his protests die when she first touched the tips of her toes in tight, black yoga pants. Since then, the 18:00 community yoga class had gathered a small audience. _He squeezed her rear with firm hands, hearing her gasp at the sensation. Still pressing from behind her, he could feel the heat from her core. His hands tilted her hips forward to expose her to him. Her gasps became staggered, and she looked back at him with eyes clouded over completely with want. She pleaded with him._

His thumb rubbed over the swollen tip of his shaft, lubricating it with his escaped desire, and with every passing stroke his toned abdomen quivered.

She had a voice that held a natural authority, but a gentleness that warmed people to her almost instantly. That was the voice of a leader, of a person that drew people to her but on her terms. It was the same voice that had told him, only once when she had been at her most vulnerable, that she loved him. He didn't answer her. When she had never said it again, he felt that he'd lost something. _She sighed a long, breathless moan as he pushed himself into her. He held held his breath savouring the feeling. He could feel her flutter around him, adjusting. He saw her fingers curl against the wall, trying to grip something that wasn't there, her breath coming in short as he rolled her hips back against him._

He moved his closed fist over slick flesh, his head lulling against the back of his leather office chair. His eyes drifted shut, and the world and all rational thought disappeared.

_His grip on her hips tightened, gliding harder and faster in long, deep strokes. She bit her arm in an attempt to muffle her cries, but he heard them. He heard the sharp panting before she jerked her head back and released a long cry that sounded vaguely like his name, her entire body jerking with the force of her orgasm. That heat, his name on a broken scream, that quivering tightness around him was his undoing, and he let go leaning into her._

He released a long groan that came out as a deep, masculine growl as his entire body went rigid, his arm gripping the chair. He felt something hot splash onto his stomach and let his body slump.

Calmness washed over him, and the warmth made him want to keep his eyes shut. But it wasn't long before the chilled air from the desk fan made its way back into his consciousness, and gradually everything else came back with it.

He didn't feel ashamed. He never had. He had learned to enjoy it.

This didn't make him happy, nor content. If he was honest, it left him feeling like he was waving the proverbial carrot in front of himself, but never taking a bite. It was a bit nonsensical by that analogy but it was true. And it made him feel foolish.

And suddenly, the complexities that surrounded her, that surrounded him and her and them and their history and their future, melted and compacted to words that echoed simply and easily through his mind.

He liked her.

He wanted her.

And nothing was standing in his way.

* * *

Stay tuned...


End file.
